


We Could Be Outlaws

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst, Animal Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, M/M, in chapter 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Walking the Path can be lonely. It's even worse when you hate everything about it. But destiny appears to have other plans for our favourite cantankerous Wolf, whether he likes it or not.Perils and Poetry Verse. Before Sonnet X.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 284
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

It was always necrophages.

Ghouls, alghouls, drowners, water hags… they were more prolific than fucking rats and Lambert hated them. He hated the way they looked, the way they smelled and the way they erupted out of the fucking ground to bite him in the arse. He hated the fact that their very existence allowed him to eat, sleep and arm himself. 

The contract was for ghouls. The local villagers had abandoned their homes as the rotting bastards encroached from the nearby battlefield. The Nilfgaardians had removed their own dead, but left their enemy to rot and fester… and attract the scavengers from hell. It wasn’t until he arrived and saw the great, hulking masses sucking bone marrow from the putrefying corpses that he realised he was actually hunting graveirs. _Fucking fantastic._ Bigger, uglier and a mouth full of cadaverine. A single bite would _burn_ for several days as even his Witcher mutation fought to overcome it.

The Nilfgaardians had massacred their northern enemies in the outskirts of a forest. The trees were thinning and graveirs were scattered between them, feasting on piles of Termerian soldiers as if they were a fine banquet. Lambert used Igni liberally to send them squealing and roaring away in pain, severing limbs and heads as he reached each one in turn. Within twenty minutes, the smell of seared, rotting flesh overwhelmed his senses and he found himself snorting and shaking his head to clear his sinuses. “Ugly motherfu--.”

Later, he told himself it was the burning. The rot. It had clouded his senses. In reality, he had been complacent and it almost cost him. 

The alghoul had hung back. Intelligent, scheming… it waited for its stupider brethren to perish at the hands of this new predator, to weaken it, before it moved in for the kill. The ticking of its growl was what alerted Lambert first off. Just in time to spin around and meet the attack head on. It leapt from the shadows and barreled into him, knocking his sword from his grip. Within inches of losing his face, his hands gripping either side of its gnashing jaws, Lambert managed to throw it off with a well-aimed kick. It gathered itself quickly and screamed at him, spines quivered as they rose from its back. 

The Witcher rolled over his sword and managed to snatch it from the ground. One hand still free, he cast a rapid Axii. “Don’t… frenzy… don’t…” The beast shook its head and the spines withdrew, but it only bought Lambert a momentary reprieve. A further ear-splitting shriek and the alghoul leapt forward; Lambert rolled and swiped upward in passing, managing to hamstring the creature and send it staggering into a nearby tree. Briefly dazed, it was enough for Lambert to strike it in the back, almost splitting it in half with the vengeful ferocity of his swing.

Panting heavily, he wiped the alghoul’s spit from his face with the back of his hand. 

“Well, shit, I have never seen someone fuck up a necrophage nest to that degree.”

Lambert tensed. He turned around slowly and then looked up into the branches of a nearby tree. The man that sat there was cast in shadow, but Lambert could see him as clearly as if it were daylight. Lean, athletic and _disgustingly_ good looking, with scruffy brown hair; he was all angles and fine lines… with golden eyes. Another Witcher. Lambert glanced over his shoulder.

“What are you looking for?” 

“Someone who gives a shit.” Lambert growled, sliding his silver blade back into the scabbard attached to his back.

“Ooh. Touchy.” The other Witcher lowered himself silently from the branches and surveyed the wreckage scattered around them. “You know, I was kind of hoping it would eat you, then I could take credit for the contract.” Now that his unwanted spectator was closer, Lambert could see the medallion glinting on his chest. _Cat._ Well, that explained everything.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he turned away and pulled the hunting knife from the back of his belt. “Now fuck off.”

Aiden watched Lambert set to work, head tilted to the side. _That was a serious amount of edge contained within a very fine piece of Witcher._ “Catch you later, Wolf.” And when Lambert looked back a moment later, the other Witcher had vanished. He huffed quietly through his nose and set to work cutting off a collection of heads to return to the villagers. There was no such thing as _trust_ these days.

* * *

The Cat returned two contracts later. It was a cockatrice. They were relatively rare, and the townsfolk were offering a handsome fee. Lambert practically bit their arm off to hunt something other than a necrophage. Except, when he got there, the creature was already in pieces.

He walked into the cave, following the trail of feathers and blood, and found the Cat standing over what should have been _his_ trophy. Two days of tracking and resource collection _wasted._ Lambert swore and turned his back to leave as the other used a rag to clean the blood from his silver blade. “Wait up, Wolf.”

“What?” Lambert stopped.

“Didn’t realise this was your hunting ground. I’m sorry.”

Lambert blinked, momentarily perplexed, before he shrugged his dismissal and walked back out into the forest. _I’m sorry?_ The other Witcher wouldn’t drop it though; he cut the head from the cockatrice and tied it in rope to carry over his shoulder, breaking into a brisk jog to catch up. “Let me buy you a drink. Least I can do.”

They walked back in complete silence. Lambert had to return to the village; he had stored some of his bags at the tavern while he was out hunting. It was an unhappy coincidence, really. The Cat left to pick up his contract money, and before Lambert could get up to leave, a tankard of beer and half a loaf of bread was deposited in front of him.

“Don’t give me that look, I didn’t spit in it,” the Cat sat down opposite with his own meal. “Aiden, by the way.”

The Wolf stared at Aiden and then glanced at the other occupants of the tavern. They didn’t seem to be bothered by the Witchers' presence. Usually, there were hostile glances and angry, hushed whispers that informed Lambert in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome. But Aiden was like a cloak of invisibility; he attracted attention alright, but it was all appreciative glances and indulgent smiles that allowed Lambert to sit comfortably in the obscure. The Wolf picked up the drink. “Lambert.” 

“Mmm.” Aiden toasted him between mouthfuls of bread and meat. When he had finished, he pulled a deck of gwent cards from his pocket. The Cat gestured to the bar tender for another round of drinks, waving his hand in dismissal when Lambert went to find some coins in his pocket. Instead, he began dealing the cards. “Play?”

“A bit. Not that good though,” Lambert pushed his empty plate aside and scooped up the cards he was dealt. From his basic grasp of the game, he could tell it was a favourable hand. 

As the evening progressed, the drinks continued to gather on the table at Lambert’s elbow. Beer turned into hard liquor, and despite his expedient metabolism, he found the corners of his eyes clouding with drunkenness. They abandoned the cards at some point in the early hours of the morning and began exchanging stories; Aiden laughed openly, was free with his smiles and generous with his wealth. At one point, Lambert wondered whether there was any of that cockatrice money left, because he hadn’t bought a drink all night… 

He was recounting a particularly gnarly encounter with a water hag - she had been a wily old cow and flung excrement at him repeatedly - when Aiden’s fingers brushed over the top of his. Immediately silent, Lambert stared down at where the ghost of the contact remained, his brow furrowed. _What…?_ He stood abruptly, so abruptly in fact that his head protested and he staggered against his chair.

“Woah, Wolf. Easy... “ Aiden sprang to his feet and slid an arm under Lambert’s to steady him. “Thought you pups had a bit more drinking stamina, what with that Kaer Morhen moonshine shit you brew.” 

“What…?” Lambert squinted at him, and then at their table. He realised that Aiden had probably only kept pace with about a third of his own drinks. “Have you… did you just try and get me drunk?”

“There’s no try about it, mate. C’mon, I think you should go to bed.”

“Bedroll’s in my--.”

“No, no. Down the hall. I’ve got a room.”

There were two of him. Two Aidens. _What the fuck had he been drinking?_

Despite being smaller, Aiden managed to get Lambert down the hall and through the door into the room he had reserved. This hadn’t been _quite_ the plan. It was meant to be a game of cards, a drink and a quick roll in the hay with a ruggedly handsome Wolf before hitting the road, but as the night progressed and the stories had become increasingly more hilarious, Aiden had lost track. Now Lambert was too damned drunk to give any kind of consent and Aiden didn’t want to just kick him to the curb. 

He took Lambert’s belts off for him, having watched him fumble with the buckles for several moments. “Here, lay down… _if you throw up on me, I will kick your arse.”_

Lambert huffed irritably. “Would be a fuckin’ waste though, wouldn’t it?”

Aiden laughed. “Yeah, it would be. You alright?”

“Be great when the room stops spinning.”

“Hmm. Can’t help with that I’m afraid.” 

“Mmm.” Lambert rolled onto his side and pulled the flimsy pillow over his head. 

Aiden ran his eyes over what could have been, before heading to the understuffed couch next to the fire place. _Maybe next time._

* * *

When Lambert woke in the morning, his head only ached for the time it took to knock back a hot tea and take his first lungful of fresh air. There had to be some perks to being a Witcher, even if they were few and fucking far between. 

The note left for him behind the bar - _thanks for the game of cards and the stories, Wolf. See you around. A -_ told him that Aiden was already long gone. Lambert stared at the note for a moment, running his thumb over the scribbled ‘A’ in thought… he grunted, crumpled the parchment in his fist and shouldered his bag. _Fuck, whatever._

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Lambert followed the Pontar east. He had managed to scrape together enough to buy himself a horse. It was a stubborn black gelding that sometimes bit him when his back was turned, and outright refused to come to him when called. He liked the animal’s attitude, and the Path suddenly felt a little less… empty. The contracts had proven too sparse in Temeria and he hoped Kaedwen or Aedirn would provide more fruitful opportunities. There had been one or two ghoul nests, a wraith haunting a local farmstead and a grave hag harvesting the local cemetery, but nothing that had paid particularly well. _Same shit, different day._

It was as he passed through Vergen that he encountered problems. The bridge crossing the the Pontar into Aedirn was… occupied. His medallion didn’t hum and so, with a disgruntled sigh, he realised the approaching problem was of the _human_ variety. The fucking worst. 

“Ahoy there, traveller,” the bandit stood lazily from the barrel he waited on. As the human drew closer, Lambert watched as the realisation dawned on his face and couldn’t help the smug, shit-eating smirk that spread over his own. _That’s right, let’s be having it then._ The bandit hesitated, but seemed to overcome any sense of self-preservation and persisted with his scam. “There’s a toll to cross. Pay up, or there’ll be trouble.”

“Don’t think so,” Lambert dropped the reins of his gelding, leaning back in his saddle. “I’ve got a pass.”

“A pass?”

“Yeah. Come and take a look.”

The bandit squinted at him and approached as the Witcher began to pat down his pockets. _Fucking idiot._ Lambert broke his nose with a swift tap of his knuckles and sent him staggering back, clutching his face.

_And then his friends decided to come out of the bushes._

Lambert had known they were there. He could smell their human filth tainting the air, but there were still more than he had wagered; ten on first count. His horse whinnied uncertainly as it spied the combination of glinting steel and rusting iron the thieves were drawing from their belts and gambesons. Lambert made a mental note to get the animal some blinkers at the next town over, but to prevent himself being thrown he hopped down and opened his palms in a gesture of arbitration. “Parley?”

“Fuck ‘im up, lads.” The leader spat through the blood streaming over his lips.

Lambert deflected the first clumsy stab from his left with the edge of his wristguard, punching his assailant in the throat with the outside of thumb and forefinger. He ducked under the next and dismissed him with a savage backhand that took him off his feet, but he couldn’t keep deflecting with non-lethal counters. They weren’t getting the message. _Don’t make me fucking kill you..._

His horse screamed in agony then as one of the bandits cut through its rear legs. It distracted Lambert long enough for another to crack him on the back of the head with a club. His vision swam as he fell to one knee, one hand lifting to press at the base of his skull. It would have knocked a normal man out; it was enough to stun a Witcher into inaction. The bandit wound up for the next attack… but it didn’t land.

A sword sang as it withdrew from its scabbard, followed by a fleshy gurgle as the bandit crumpled to the floor, blood spilling liberally from the opening in his throat. Lambert’s vision continued to move in and out of focus, and all he could make out was their blood spraying across the path until it was sodden with it. When he was finally able to regain some equilibrium, Lambert staggered to his feet and turned to face the unknown swordsman.

_Aiden._

“Why is it that whenever I find you, you’re neck deep in some kind of bullshit?”

Lambert wasn’t listening; he knelt by his horse as it thrashed weakly on the ground. They had cut both its rear legs down to the bone and the blood loss was making it weak; it whinnied at Lambert in pain, trying and failing to roll onto its front.

The Wolf pulled his hunting knife from his belt and rested a gloved hand gently on the side of the horse’s face to calm it; he paused briefly to rub its nose and received a nip to his fingers in acknowledgement. Only a moment’s hesitation followed, before he rammed the blade up through its skull. The animal’s entire body went limp after one final death rattle. He pushed himself up to his feet and surveyed the carnage around him.

Various pieces of human being littered the road as if someone had thrown a dancing star bomb into their midst. Limbs and heads separated from torsos split open through the middle; blood and entrails turning the once dry dirt into a quagmire. For the second time he looked back at Aiden. The other Witcher was spattered with the blood of his victims; it mottled his neck, face and armour with a grim spray pattern. “You killed them…”

Aiden glanced around matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Why? They were just human…”

“Mm. They were going to kill you. And they killed your horse. That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

Lambert opened his mouth to answer, but dropped his face into his palm instead. It felt like a thousand dwarven smiths were hammering away inside his skull. Seconds later, he felt Aiden’s hands on his, pulling them away. The Cat tilted Lambert's chin up so that the sun shone into his eyes, and tutted. “Hmm. Your pupils aren’t reacting properly to the light. You need to sit down for a few hours.”

Lambert pushed the hand away. "Don't change the subject, arse hole. You can't butcher humans like this. It's not our way."

"Hmm. Odd. I see only monsters here." Aiden glanced around him with disinterest, before stooping down to Lambert's horse and unbuckling the bags. "You can bark and growl at me as much as you want, Wolf. I just saved your life. You owe me."

"I _owe_ you," Lambert growled. "I didn't ask for you to get involved."

"But I did. So now you owe me. My fee is an evening of beer and card games."

Lambert clenched his fists and wound himself up to argue, and then looked down at the corpse of his horse. If he declined, then it was going to be a cold, lonely night on the banks of the Pontar with nothing but his own thoughts. Last time had been, he could begrudgingly admit to himself, fun. Aiden had an easy way about him that Lambert had never seen in another Witcher, and it held an undeniable magnetism. _Fuck it._ "Fine. Pretty cheap for a Witcher’s services."

"Fuck, really? I'll need to revisit my price list…"

"You might get more discerning clientele."

"Mmm. The current crop isn't too bad." Aiden cast him a lecherous smirk as he shouldered one of Lambert's bags and began to lead the way down the path.

"Oof. Low standards." 

Aiden's brow furrowed, but he said nothing else. There was clearly some work to do here.

* * *

Aiden had set up his camp up by a small waterfall. The spring grasses clustering around the bank were dense and soft, and the wall of the small cliff sheltered them from the early evening breeze. Lambert dropped his bags and unstrapped the two swords from his back, privately grateful for the opportunity to sit down and take a long drink from the bottle of beer pushed into his hands. 

Aiden gulped down a few mouthfuls of his own, before ducking out of his sword belt and shedding his shirt and armour. He stepped into the small waterfall and scrubbed his hands over the drying blood crusted on his skin. Lambert took the opportunity to study him closely while his back was turned. There were three jagged, parallel lines over his left shoulder - werewolf, perhaps - and a criss-cross of other white, knotted lines on his lower back. The scars were obvious on Aiden’s honey coloured skin, but it only added to the growing pressure in the bottom of Lambert’s chest; a pressure that he astutely _ignored_.

“Like what you see, Wolf?”

 _Caught._ “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Not flattery if it’s true. You deal.” Aiden flopped down on his bedroll and chucked a set of cards bound in twine into Lambert’s lap. Damp hair ruffled and standing on end, skin still glistening from the water, that charming jawline and golden ey--… _fucking hell, no._ He had just watched Aiden butcher ten men without so much as batting an eye; that brand of crazy was dangerous, especially when it hid behind a beautiful face. And yet… it just made him all the more _interesting_. 

The Wolf huffed, dismissing the unwelcomed sensation in the pit of his stomach, and dealt the cards out on the grass in front of them.

They played and drank for some time without talking. The day faded into night and Aiden paused to set up a fire before returning to the round; Lambert caught Aiden studying him closely between hands on several occasions, and it became more obvious as the night drew on. In the end, he folded the next game. “What?”

“Just wondering.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Where all that anger comes from.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve been watching you over these last few weeks. You hate it, don’t you? Being a Witcher.”

Lambert looked taken aback. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more; being called out, or the realisation that Aiden had been… _watching him?_ “Wait, you’ve been following me?”

“Mmm. Not at first. More a happy accident, really. After I left you at that inn, I couldn’t stop thinking about your stories; the way you looked sometimes when you talked about hunting, that and you were funny. You’re interesting. So, I decided to see what you were about. Stayed down wind so you wouldn’t smell me, didn’t get close enough for your medallion to start a-tingling.”

“Oh, great, so _stalking_ is closer to the mark. There is something wrong with you.”

“Don’t be a baby. Tell me, why… why do you hate it so much?” 

Lambert sat there in stunned silence. The cards were forgotten. Perhaps it was the knock on the head; perhaps it was the easy way that Aiden _dealt_ with him, brushing away his growls and spiteful tongue as a nuisance, or even an amusement, rather than an offence; perhaps it was the genuine interest in his eyes as he studied Lambert in the firelight. Whatever it was, eventually the Wolf grated out out his answer. “I didn’t have a choice. No one… _asked_ me.”

“None of us really had a choice, Lambert.”

“That’s… it’s… not the--, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You want to know? You really want to fucking know?”

“Yes, I do.” Aiden took a swig from his bottle and leaned back on his elbows, trousers now dry from his earlier shower, he crossed his legs over and cocked his head to the side.

Lambert clenched his teeth before heaving a resigned sigh. “My father was a violent drunk. He got shit-faced every night, and then he came home and beat the shit out of _us_ ,” he wasn’t looking at Aiden as he spoke; he didn’t want to see the judgement. “I was… _glad_ when he was beating on me, because at least he wasn’t beating on--.” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face as his headache intensified. “Then, one day, he fell into a nekker nest. It was like all our prayers had been answered. But some fucking higher power has a shitty sense of humour, because a Witcher pulled him out. And do you know what he demanded in return when my prick of a father couldn’t pay him?”

“Law of surprise…”

“Fucking right he did. And the first thing he saw when he got home… _me_ . My life for that prick. Where is the fucking justice in that?” Lambert was becoming increasingly irate; Aiden could smell the rage building as surely as he could smell the beer and the firewood. “And I went home, you know… years later, when Kaer Morhen had finished with me, and I found out he had killed her. In a drunken fucking rampage. And then hanged himself. My life exchanged for _fuck all._ So what does that make me?”

“Lambert, I’m--.”

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking apologise,” he kicked the cards away and pushed himself to his feet. “This… was a mistake. You… you’re fucking crazy, and you have no fucking idea and--.” _Now you’re moving all over the place_. Lambert staggered, and for the second time in their short acquaintance, Aiden was at his side to prop him up again. The Wolf growled a warning, but it was empty of intent as his head swam.

“Look, I’m sorry. Ever heard the phrase curiosity killed the cat? Yeah… it hits a bit close to the mark with me. Sit down. Let me have a look at the back of your head. Don’t glare at me. Sit.” 

It didn’t take much pressure on Lambert’s shoulder to push him down, and Aiden left only briefly to scoop some water from the river and set the bowl boiling over the fire. While the water sterilised, he sat down behind Lambert and pushed his head forward. Short-cropped brown hair was stuck together with congealed blood where the club had broken the skin; the bump was obvious and a clear indicator of what was causing the dizziness. “You’ll be fine in the morning. No lasting damage.”

“I’m not staying with--.”

“You are. I need to wake you up every few hours to check you’re still alive.”

“I’m a fucking Witcher. Are you being serious?”

“Don’t argue. Sit still. Drink the beer.” Aiden pulled the bowl to his lap and used a rag from his bag to carefully clean away the blood from the injury site, and the trail it had left down the back of the Wolf’s neck.

“What about you?” Lambert asked quietly.

“What about me?”

“How were you enlisted?”  
  
“Orphan. Witcher from the School of Cat found a few of us in Novigrad. Liked our attitude and made us an offer. Come with me and save the world. Who’s going to say no to that?”

“And how’s that been going for you?”

“I realised after a while that saving the world was less about one grand gesture, and more about making a series of little ones.”

“And where does butchering humans factor in?”

Aiden jabbed him in the back of the neck in retaliation, and Lambert hissed as the sting webbed itself up the back of his skull. “The world isn’t as black and white as you Wolves would like it to be. Sometimes the line between man and monster is blurred. Don’t be naive; it doesn’t suit you. There… done.” The Cat ran his hand up through Lambert’s hair in an apology for his earlier prod, and was delighted by the goosebumps that appeared on the exposed skin of the Wolf’s neck. So his cantankerous pup was interested after all, and liked to be petted. Something to file away for later. “Sleep. I’ll wake you in two hours.”

Aiden shifted abruptly and Lambert suddenly felt inexplicably bereft. He shrugged the feeling away irritably. The rest of his armour removed and dumped by his bag, gambeson loosened, he rested on his side and watched as Aiden took the bloodied clothes he had shed earlier to the river. Lambert wasn’t quite sure what brand of clusterfuck he had walked into, but he found himself oddly glad he had done so all the same.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Kaer Morhen immortalised duty and sacrifice, the caravan worshipped life and freedom.

Lambert woke up the next morning to the smell of cooking rabbit. _How deeply had he slept exactly?_ He blinked in the light that streamed into their camp and pushed himself upright.

“Morning, sleeping beauty. Grub’s up.”

They ate together in silence, Aiden cross-legged on his sleeping mat and Lambert propped up against a nearby tree. His head felt better - thank _you_ mutations - but his thoughts were no clearer. “Where are you heading?” Lambert left his now empty iron bowl to his and drew a knee up to his chest.

“Hmm. Aedirn, maybe Kaedwen… too many Wolves hunting around Temeria at the moment.”

“Aedirn,” Lambert repeated, deadpan. “Funny that. That was _exactly_ where I was going.”

“Hmm. Well. Why don’t we meet up for another round of cards? I think you’re actually starting to become competent. I’ve got a few things to clear up in Vergen, but I won’t be far behind.”

“You’re an arse hole.” Lambert grumbled, strapping his armour and belts into place. His bags were already packed and it was only his sleeping mat that he had to roll up and fasten to the top. He paused, turning slightly so he could watch the other Witcher begin to pack up his camp. _Yes_ . He wanted to see Aiden again. Wanted to drink and play cards, and watch him laugh and smile; he wanted to bask in the glow of it all. It was dangerous. _Aiden_ was dangerous, despite all those pretty features and effortless flirtations. But Lambert couldn’t help himself. “Eisenlaan.”

“Hmm?” Aiden glanced up from his bags.

“It’s south-east of Vengerberg. Meet there in ten days. And I’ll make you regret your arrogance.”

* * *

Aiden tidied up his business in Vergen quickly; he had been asked to deal with a petty thief that had been causing problems for the wrong man. Free money. And so he could set himself back to what was currently his favourite pass-time: Lambert-watching. There was something about the Wolf - his anger, his bitterness, and his righteousness - that was compelling. It should have been a toxic combination, but his view of the world was… _different_ to what Aiden had expected a Wolf’s to be. It was coloured by glimmers of humour and warmth, especially when regaling someone with a particularly funny tale, that warmed Aiden’s heart.

Lambert hated the Path; he hated his lack of choice certainly, but it was deeper than that. Aiden had noted his inquisitive glances around the tavern when the occupants hadn’t immediately started lighting the torches and grabbing the pitchforks; the way he had petted his horse in remorse before ending it’s suffering; the way he sat on the outskirts of towns where no one could see him and just watched people go about their daily lives. He was _lonely_ and wanted desperately for the world to be better than it was, to prove itself worthy of his time and his sacrifice. He was just too _damned prickly_ to let anyone close enough to walk at his side. Aiden had decided that this Wolf would become _his_ , whether he knew it yet or not, and _Aiden_ would show him just how colourful and full of life the world could be.

There were several moments as he tracked Lambert through Aedirn that he was certain he had been spotted. Every time he put some distance between them for a day, took a quick and easy job to earn some money, before returning to the hunt once more. He stayed downwind as before, careful to monitor his own medallion for its response, but one evening he just couldn’t help it. It was day nine and they were due to meet in Eisenlaan the following evening for their card game. Lambert had finished a job clearing some drowners with efficiency and professionalism, bought himself some vodka and disappeared deep into the forest surrounding the village.

The trees had an ambient magic to them. The medallion against Aiden’s chest hummed, but there was no pending threat; no monster haunting the shadows, or mage ready to blow a hole in his back. Nymphs, forest spirits maybe, but it was innocuous and the perfect camouflage. The heady scent of arousal caught Aiden’s attention first and drew him quickly towards his quarry. He stayed low in the shrubbery until he found a suitably tall tree to ascend and perch inside. The sight before him sent heat straight down to the pit of his stomach. 

His Wolf was sprawled out on his sleeping mat in a small clearing, armour and clothes loose, pleasuring himself with wanton abandon. His cock, thick and _painfully_ hard, was grasped in his right hand and he arched beautifully into the long, torturous strokes he permitted himself. His palm was slick with beads of precum, and the thin sheen of sweat on his neck and chest betrayed just how long he had been drawing it out. At first, Aiden was certain he was thinking about one of the pretty barmaids they had met previously, with their ample breasts and thighs, but then… “Fuck, _Aiden…_ ” 

Aiden forced himself to swallow the overwhelming urge to drop down from the tree and take possession in that instant. Lambert would lose it; he’d snarl, spit and fight out of combined shame and rage. Hope would be lost. Instead, the Cat gripped the branch below him hard, his nails biting into the bark as he made himself drink in every tortured pant and muted moan. When Lambert came, he pushed his head back and muffled his pleasure with his left arm, embarrassed even to let the trees hear his release; one booted foot pressed desperately into the floor for anchorage until the euphoria subsided.

The Wolf lay there, gazing into the canopy above him, until his breathing returned to normal. He sat up slowly, straightened his clothes, and used one of his old shirts to clean off. The half empty bottle of vodka was his next port of call, and he lifted it to his lips for a long draw of its contents. Aiden lowered himself from the tree when his Wolf had settled back again, unwilling to allow a sudden wind change to give him away; he left the forest with uncomfortably tight breeches and a plan forming in his mind.

* * *

“See, you are getting better,” Aiden chucked his cards down on the table and knocked back the remaining dregs of his beer. “I couldn’t even get that play off the ground.”

Lambert smirked and leaned back in his chair. The tavern was abuzz with life, and none of it was paying any heed to the two Witchers seated by the fire. The proprietor was quite happy to supply food and ply them with alcohol as long as they kept throwing coins into his palm. Lambert could _almost_ relax. Aiden made it so easy.

“Alright, alright. I propose a wager on the next round. Since I know now I won’t be taking advantage of a lesser player.”

“You’re such a…” Lambert huffed an exasperated laugh and tapped the table. “Go on then. If I win, you buy me a new horse. I partially blame you for the last one. You could have stepped in at any time.”

“Hmm. While I feel that is a _little_ unfair, I accept your terms,” Aiden sat back and made a show of considering his end, but he had known what he was going to ask since the moment Lambert had sat down in front of him. “If I win, then you come and spend a few weeks with me at the Dyn Marv caravan.”

“ _What?”_ Lambert spat the mouthful of beer back into the tankard before it choked him. “Spend two weeks with a bunch of cut-throats and thieves. You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m wounded,” Aiden feigned injury, but he had predicted this response. It was pretty standard fare from other Witchers. “I’ll have you know, those cut-throats and thieves throw a fucking good party. And you might actually _learn_ a thing or two from them.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s fine… if you’re too yellow, then we can drop the wager.”

“Fuck you. You’re on. I look forward to picking out my horse tomorrow morning.”

Aiden was merciless in his victory.

* * *

“What are the rules?”

“Rules?”

“Drills, routines… I need to know them. Last thing I want to do is piss someone off and end up with a knife in my back.”

“We don’t tend to knife guests,” Aiden glanced sideways at his travelling companion. “Hmm. Rules, let’s see… well, if you break it, you fix it. If you use it, you replace it. No rough housing at dinner time… I think that’s about it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly. Tess will kick your arse if you ruin her meal times,” he paused to glance down a left fork, before deciding to take the right hand path. “Bit different to Kaer Morhen then?”

“I… you have no fucking idea.” Lambert adjusted the bag on his shoulder and followed the rest of the way in silence. The caravan had progressed into Toussaint and it had taken a weeks worth of travelling just to get that far; Aiden had informed Lambert that _travelling time_ did not count as _time spent_. They found it in the Caed Myrkvid forest, flanked by a dense copse of alders and beeches. When Lambert had inquired as to what the druids of the forest thought of a Witcher incursion, Aiden had laughed and said they enjoyed the free alcohol.

The ‘caravan’ was actually a collection of carts and wagons. There was a single, big wagon in the middle with doors and windows; furs, leather and lanterns hung on the outside and the members of the school stepped in and out of it freely. Aiden informed him later that there were a few bunks and benches inside, mainly for meetings.

The other carts were spread about the clearing, piled high with boxes, weapons crates and barrels. In the middle was a huge pile of wood and other flammable debris in preparation for a large fire that evening. The Witchers had dropped their packs at varying distances around it, and the horses responsible for keeping the whole thing moving were busy investigating for potential treats amongst the chaos.

As they arrived, Lambert eyed the others warily. They didn’t _look_ like Witchers in the way he was used to, but there was no real pattern to their kind either. Some were lean and muscular like Aiden, while others were far rounder and clearly enjoyed the comforts of their school a little _too much_. There were women too. This wasn’t a surprise; Lambert knew that the School of Cat openly trained women, but to catch glimpses of those trademark yellow eyes framed in feminine features was still a fascination. All in, there had to be between fifteen and twenty-five people currently moving supplies, chatting and sparring around the clearing, with more no doubt scouting through the woodland.

“Aiden! You made it! I didn’t think you’d be back ‘til winter.”

Lambert turned in time to see a slender, auburn-haired woman bound up and throw her arms around Aiden’s shoulders. The Witcher returned the embrace with his free arm. “Tess, I’ve brought a guest with me… this is Lambert, School of Wolf.” 

She released Aiden, stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. Golden eyes looked Lambert up and down, openly weighing him up. “Hmm. You could have done worse. Not here to teach us the errors of our ways, are you, Lambert?”

“Be. Pleasant.” Aiden punched her in the arm as he walked past.

“No. I… I lost a bet.”

Tess laughed. “At least he’s honest. Dinner’s at sunset. Venison.” She waved at them as she walked away, heading back to the small group she had been speaking with before they arrived. Lambert followed Aiden to an empty area to the far right of the clearing, sheltered by a particularly vibrant alder tree.

“You look like a deer caught amongst a wolf pack.”

“Weird analogy. Perhaps a mouse amongst alley cats?”

Aiden huffed a laugh, taking Lambert’s pack from his shoulder when it became clear the Wolf was uncertain. “Maybe. But we don’t play with our food. You would already be dead if they wanted it. Keep an open mind. Come on, let me introduce you.”

* * *

By the time evening drew in and the bonfire was set alight, Lambert had met most of the school. A couple were perplexed by his presence, but most were unphased. _Unexpected._ Aiden hadn’t been lying about the party either; Lambert’s cup was barely ever empty, and in the end he sprawled next to Aiden in the warmth of the bonfire through sheer inability to remain standing any longer. They had shed their armour and sword belts earlier in the evening, and the heat from the flames tickled pleasantly across the bare skin of Lambert’s arms, legs and chest. 

Someone had picked up a lute and, in their drunken revelry, a number of the Witchers were dancing around the fire like pagan worshippers. “This is… not what I expected.” _Understatement of the century._ It couldn’t be further detached from Kaer Morhen, with its crumbling stone walls and desolate, empty corridors. Where Kaer Morhen immortalised duty and sacrifice, the caravan worshipped life and freedom.

“Hmm?” Aiden was propped up on his elbows only so that he could continue drinking.

“I knew your mutation… your trial was different, but I didn’t realise _how_ different.”

“Ahh, yes. The emotional Witchers. I bet your ol’ Vesemir tells the story like it was a travesty when they seized control.”

“He isn’t… complimentary.”

“Hmm. Nearly four hundred years old and stuck in his ways.” Lambert had his back to him, and Aiden used the opportunity to study his body language closely. Upon arrival, he had been about ready to leap fifty foot in the air if someone had so much as tapped him on the shoulder, but now those same shoulders had loosened and his demeanour was one of curiosity. “The alternative was… not a good one. Originally, Witchers of the School of Cat were completely flayed of all emotions. We earned the reputation. The one that follows you ‘round like a bad smell. Emotionless, heartless… and completely _other_.”

“When you were headquartered in Stygga Castle.”

“Mmmhm. Anyway, that’s ancient history. Dance with me.”

“What?” Before Lambert could respond properly, Aiden had grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. His drink clattered to the floor as the Cat wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. “ _Aiden… what if--_?”

“No one cares, Lambert. Look. Really _look.”_ Aiden stood behind him, arms still about his waist to pull him back forcefully against his chest. Lambert did as he was told. He turned his gaze from face to face; couples - and sometimes more - danced together with complete abandon. Affection was exchanged freely at varying levels of intimacy, no matter the gender or level of alcohol consumption. When dancing became too demanding, they collapsed in heaps and sprawled over each other without a care. “You don’t have to protect your heart here, Lambert. It’s safe.” Aiden loosened his grasp to allow his Wolf to turn back to him. “Now… I’ve seen your footwork in battle, let’s see what it’s like to a bit of music.”

Lambert finally laughed, the last of his misgivings evaporating, and he allowed Aiden to steer him around the roaring campfire. Occasionally they tripped over prone forms enjoying the alcohol and each other on the floor. They drank, danced and laughed until the early hours of the morning and collapsed more or less on top of each other in an exhausted, sweat-soaked heap as the sun peaked tentatively above the horizon.

_Yeah, Aiden really hadn’t been lying about the parties._

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The days passed lazily. It was as if the laid back attitude of the Witchers themselves had been absorbed by the sun as it drifted across the sky. Aiden watched as Lambert immersed himself in the culture of the school; he was enthusiastic to learn everything he could about this alien world he had discovered. The Felines were only too happy to show him; they were proud of their heritage and their ethos, and Lambert was enthralled. He absorbed new alchemical recipes, improved a few of his own for a bomb and weighed up their silver knives in his hands.

He even managed to convince a few of them to indulge in some swordplay. Aiden knew Lambert was a fine swordsman - in fact, it was probably his greatest strength - and he watched with quiet pride as his Wolf stepped circles around his unwitting opponents. Far from being arrogant in victory though, he listened patiently to the more skilled members of the caravan and Aiden arrived back one afternoon to find Lambert perfectly imitating the school’s fighting style, right down to the level of grace and fluidity required to execute the rolls and flips of avoidance that all Cats were taught from a young age. “Oh Tess, I think I’m in love.”

“Mmmhm. I could have told you that. You brought him home to meet the family. But does he know?” 

Aiden threw up his hands in exasperation. “Not a fucking clue. I’ll let you know by the end of the week.”

* * *

“Why did you bring me here?”

It was late evening. They were sat on their bedrolls some distance from the bonfire. “Because I wanted to.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because I wanted to show you that not everything in this world is a pile of shit, Lambert.” Aiden sat up. This type of conversation was a bit too serious to stay sprawled on his back for. “You’re good company. I’ve never laughed so hard over a game of gwent as that first night we met. You deserve better than wandering the wilderness on your own.”

The Wolf nodded.

“Why did you think I brought you here?”

“I wasn’t sure…”

Aiden shuffled closer until their knees were touching. “Your soul is wasted on anger. Let me help you find a way to fill it with something else.”

Lambert looked at Aiden in silence. A range of expression passed through his eyes, but he couldn't put any of them into words. Instead, he slumped onto his back and looked at the trees above. “I would like that.”

They laid the rest of the night in silence and watched the stars shoot across the sky.

* * *

Early in the second week, they went out on patrol together. It was less a patrol and more an easy stroll through the woodland; they took no weapons and armour. The druids of the forest wouldn’t have permitted it anyway. The only thing Aiden had been certain to tuck away was a small jar of oil he had been saving for the perfect opportunity… just incase.

“Have you heard that new ballad about one of your brothers…”

“Oh, fucking hell…”

“Wait, it’s coming to me... ah, yes! When a humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia.”

“Aiden…”

“Along came this song, from when the White Wolf fought, a silver-tongued devil… bababa… ummm…”

“Aiden, stop.” Lambert turned to face the Cat now, his fists clenched and expression thunderous.

“Minced our tender meat, and so cried the Witcher, he can’t be bleat! Toss a coin to your Wi--.” Aiden didn’t get to finish his chorus, because Lambert tackled him around the waist and together they tumbled down the grassy knoll they had just reached the top of. The Cat had been expecting - _no -_ he had been _hoping_ for it, and was ready to gain the upperhand. 

As they cartwheeled to the bottom, he twisted his torso and hooked Lambert’s legs so that when they came to a stop Lambert was face down in the grass, with one arm twisted behind his back, and Aiden straddling his backside. He leaned forward so his mouth almost touched the arch of Lambert’s ear, taking one last dig. “Oh valley of plenty.”

“You’re a prick,” the Wolf’s voice was muffled by the grass, and he tilted his head, thrashing his torso to try and unsettle his captor. It earned him a twist of the arm further up his back, and he growled as the muscles of his shoulders strained. Yet, having Aiden pinning him to the ground was… _not unpleasant._ The iron grip on his wrist that betrayed Aiden’s unrelenting power sparked an interest deep in the pit of Lambert’s stomach. He shifted his hips again as pressure began to build underneath them.

Aiden noticed. He clamped his legs around Lambert’s hips to keep him still. He could smell that same thick scent he had in the forest that evening. “Hmm. You like this, don’t you?” He twisted Lambert’s arm higher until it elicited a grunt of discomfort. Aiden held him there, revelling in the heat building in Lambert’s skin and the strangled pants that came from this form of restraint. 

When he released his grip, it was only to pin both of Lambert’s arms by his head. Aiden leaned down to nuzzle his face into the back of his Wolf’s neck, breathing deeply of that musky scent mingled with building desire. He grazed his teeth across the goosebumps of enjoyment that had erupted just below Lambert’s hairline, and he felt the tense back below him melt. “Do you want this, Lambert? I need to hear you say it.”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Louder. I need to be sure.”

“Yes. Aiden, please…” Lambert’s voice was ragged, and when Aiden turned him over to press a kiss to his lips, he surrendered completely to it. The Wolf found his way under Aiden’s shirt; his palms were ablaze and Aiden couldn’t help the moan of appreciation as those calloused fingertips traced around his sides and down his back. He parted reluctantly to pull Lambert’s shirt over his head and discard his own, pushed his lover back into the grass, and left a trail of kisses down his throat and collarbone. 

However, he was clearly mistaken in thinking that his Wolf was happy with a passive role. He knelt up to pull at the fastenings of his breeches, and Lambert followed him, taking one of his nipples in his mouth before descending further down his chest. Teeth and tongue rough and urgent, he allowed Lambert his moment of worship. Aiden watched his Wolf lap at the scars that laced the skin over his ribs, stroking his fingers through his hair softly at first, and then taking a handful to pull him away when he couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Trousers. Off.” The order grated out as Aiden shuffled back, sitting on his heels once he had kicked his own free. Lambert shuffled away and undressed in front of him, strong, scarred and so beautiful. His arousal stood thick against the plains of his stomach and Aiden leaned forward to grab the back of a knee, slipping his mouth around the leaking tip of Lambert's cock when he stumbled closer. Something he had _desperately_ wanted to do since he had seen it for the first time in the woodland outside Eisenlaan.

“Fuck, Aiden…” Lambert practically snarled, taking a handful of scruffy brown hair as he sank into Aiden’s throat. The rumble of amusement that his impassioned plea caused nearly made his legs give way. While one hand rested lightly on the back of Lambert’s thigh, the other dipped to his right and found the small jar he had brought with him - _thank the Gods of fucking everything that it had survived the fall_. He wasn’t sure whether he would have been able to stop himself taking Lambert anyway. He reluctantly drew his hands away to coat one liberally in oil.

Lambert bucked into his mouth when slick fingers rubbed possessively at his entrance; he swore as a finger pushed inside him, followed very quickly by a second and eventually a third. It was _punishing_ , but the burn of it sent thrills of pleasure up through Lambert's stomach; he gripped Aiden’s shoulders, only vaguely aware that his nails were drawing blood.

Aiden could sense his Wolf drawing close and pulled his mouth away, leaving two fingers buried in him to stroke the knot of nerves deep inside. “Tell me what you want, Lambert.”

Lambert looked down at those golden eyes, framed in fine, handsome features. The tip of his cock hovered close to the swollen lips that had taken it moments ago, and the sight was almost enough to push Lambert over the edge. "Everything. All of you. Right now."

The Cat withdrew his hand and rubbed the remainder of the oil over his own length, before pulling Lambert down to straddle his lap. His Wolf shook against him with the effort of accommodating exactly what he had asked for; Aiden was deliberately slow, revelling in the flex of tight muscles as he sheathed himself to the hilt. Lambert was panting heavily against his shoulder. “ _Fuck…”_

“You’re in control. Relax.” 

Aiden drew lazy circles at the small of Lambert’s back with one hand, nudging his head away from his shoulder. "Let me look at you." The other hand teased down Lambert’s length and tempted him into moving into its grip. It did the trick. His Wolf relaxed enough to rock his hips and let out a deep, ragged moan as Aiden moved inside him. 

Lambert saw Aiden's face too; the way he bit his lower lip and gazed up at him, enchanted. No one looked at him like that, and he was pretty certain no one ever would again. Unbridled desire, pleasure and _love._ It took his breath and last inhibition away.

Lambert rolled his hips in a slow, steady rhythm that drove Aiden into a tortured fervour. He found the angle that they both enjoyed and the rest of the world faded away. It was just Aiden and his tousled hair; his golden eyes and his easy smile. Lambert kissed him as they came, Aiden tipped over the edge as Lambert's body hummed gloriously around him. It wasn't a skilled or coordinated kiss, both stripped away by the uncontrolled waves of pleasure that spasmed through him, but it was passionate and Aiden returned it with equal heat.

When they parted, Lambert flopped into the grass on his back. He could feel Aiden's release dripping down his thighs and it was more satisfying than he could have imagined, or admit out loud. "Fuckin' hell…"

"I hope they do, 'cause I want to be doing that to you for an eternity." Aiden rested his head on Lambert's shoulder, eyes closing as the cool breeze prickled across the sheen of sweat on his skin. He was rewarded with a low, rumbling laugh and they laid there for an hour; the evidence of their passion dried on their skin and as the day drew to a close, they found a small brook to wash away the evidence before returning to camp.

* * *

Lambert ended up staying longer than two weeks. 

He forgot about the Path; the loneliness, the cold and the bitter injustice of it all. He wrapped himself in Aiden and the safety of the caravan. It still awed him that he could sit across Aiden's lap, lost in deep, indulgent kisses, and not a single person protested or expressed disgust. Tess teased and cooed at them, but she meant it only in affectionate approval. 

Aiden wanted to be at his side all the time, and Lambert realised he preferred it that way too. Their patrols became regular as they sought privacy enough to explore each other away from prying eyes. Lambert learned the pattern of Aiden's body - the way he liked to be touched and where it would make him keen and shiver - and submitted himself without reservation to the returned attention. With trust established, Aiden explored the hint of a submissive he had seen at the beginning of their first tryst and discovered just how much Lambert enjoyed being overpowered. He enjoyed it most when control was torn from him, putting up fierce resistance only to be consumed by a skilled opponent. Aiden found himself biting down possessively on several occasions after gaining the upper hand, and his Wolf howled for him.

One evening, as Lambert sat wrapped in Aiden's arms, a bottle of beer in his hand, he blurted it out with all the finesse of a graceless adolescent. "Aiden, I love you." 

There was a horrible, agonising moment when Aiden said nothing and Lambert thought his heart would shatter in shame, but then those arms tightened around him and Aiden's warm breath brushed across his ear. "I love you too, my Wolf."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

There had to be a downside. There had to be. Chaos demanded its price. For Witchers, it was their soul. Lambert had acknowledged this fact long ago, but the School of Cat just seemed too free. Too warm. _What price had they paid_? The lack of balance was beginning to trouble him. If this is what Witchers could have, could be, then why had the School of Wolf pursued the cold and _the empty_ so devoutly? Why did he have to feel numb for half his life, and angry for the other? As they headed into their fourth week, and the caravan was beginning to pack up to move, Lambert got his answer.

It started as a quiet exchange between two of the younger members of the school. Lambert was helping lash down some barrels of salted meat in one of the carts when his eyes flickered across to them. Without warning, one punched the other in the stomach and it just... all went to shit. The second flew at his aggressor with feral intensity and pinned him to the floor, raining down savage punches on his face until his knuckles were bloodied and bones began to disintegrate in audible, fleshy cracks.

Lambert abandoned his task and intervened, he hoped, in time to save the man pinned to the floor. He caught the wrist that threatened to drive a knife through his abdomen just in the knick of time, and grunted with the effort of containing the thrashing Witcher until further assistance could arrive. And as he stared into the other Witcher’s eyes, he saw it. Raw, consuming rage. Uncompromising, irrational. He had been told regularly about the ‘red mist’ humans suffered from when they angered, and had scoffed at the idea of such a loss of control. But there it was. In a Witcher. And even though he was nearly twice the size of this particular Cat, he struggled to keep him pinned.

“Lambert!” Aiden sprinted from the treeline with several others and grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him away. His companions managed to contain the snarling, spitting Feline and hauled him towards the large caravan that still stood proudly amidst the clearing. Aiden checked his Wolf over, before turning to the groaning form on the floor. His face was a fleshy mess, and in the end Aiden was ushered away by Tess so that she could try and salvage what she could. He turned to Lambert. “What happened?”

“I have no idea. One minute they were talking… and the next they just… lost it. He was going to beat him to death. I saw it. In his eyes.”

Aiden stood in silence for some time, before he gestured for Lambert to follow him towards their packs. “Lambert, there’s… there’s a catch. To everything we have here. A price. We kept our emotions, but sometimes… they take over. Sometimes it’s impossible to stop.”

“What are you saying?”

“Our younger members struggle to control themselves. We had one about thirty years ago who killed an Alderman, his entire family and the guards who came to help… just for not paying him,” he rubbed the back of his head. “We're all… a bit unstable.”

“Even you?”

“Yes, but less so now. I think age has mellowed me out a bit.” He shrugged. “But… there have been times when--, ah… I’ll understand if you want to leave. It’s not the type of baggage I would expect anyone to deal with.”

Lambert gazed at Aiden passively, his expression completely unreadable. Aiden wanted to push him away. He wanted him to leave. He _expected_ it, and was trying to make it easier. Not happening. “I don’t care.” 

“What?”

“I don’t care, Aiden,” he raised a hand, and when Aiden flinched away, he insisted and grabbed a handful of his shirt to pull him close. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t have a choice to become what you are. None of us did. I’m here to stay. And if you try to beat the shit out of me, well… I think we’ve figured out I rather enjoy it anyway.”

“Lambert, I...” Aiden didn’t get to finish, because the Wolf took his mouth in a fierce kiss that pushed the air from his lungs and did not brook protest. When they pulled apart, he nudged his head under Lambert’s chin. “You’re a fucking crazy bastard.”

“Batshit. Guess that’s why we’re good for each other.”

Aiden laughed, and they packed their camp to depart.

* * *

The next few months passed in a blur. Lambert didn’t think he had ever felt _happier_. It was an odd, warm feeling that he carried around in his chest even when Aiden was miles away. It was the knowledge that, in a few days, or weeks, they would be back together again. They would drink, laugh, and then Aiden would kiss and hold him as if he were the most valuable person in the world. It gave Lambert a sense of purpose that he realised had been absent since… well, forever. 

They took some larger jobs together, and these were the ones they both enjoyed the most. Huge trolls, a royal wyvern and a Leshy or two, and they always ended up spending the coin on alcohol and a comfortable bed to enjoy the night in. Lambert was happy to spend every crown or lintar he earned if it meant he could spend just a few hours curled into Aiden’s side. 

However, there were some of Aiden’s proclivities that Lambert just couldn’t abide.

“Aiden, this is an assassination.”

“Hmm. You need to think of all the bad things he’s done. Theft, murder, rape. And in a post of power and influence too. He’s basically a monster. Just without the teeth, fur and scales.”

“Don’t do it. There are plenty of contracts out there. Think of all the bullshit that would rain down on your head if they find out it was you. This is…” Lambert pushed the scrap of paper away from him. “Just… don’t. Please.”

“Oh, well, you do ask so very sweetly.”

“Dickhead.” 

Aiden laughed, and folded the paper into his hand, before casting it into the nearby fire. “Alright, but you need to make it worth my while to stay.” 

“Worth your while? We haven’t seen each other in a month and you want to piss off already. I thought you enjoyed my wit and banter.”

“I do, but I enjoy your cock m--.” Aiden was stopped by a hand pressed over his face and a reprimanding look. There were too many unsavoury types in earshot, and Lambert could do without that kind of attention. When he drew his hand away, Aiden rose to his feet. “Well, milady, shall we retire for the evening?” _I am going to punish you for that._

“Hmm. I think we should.” _Bring it_. Lambert grabbed the half empty bottle of vodka from their table and downed several more mouthfuls.

He barely got into their room before Aiden grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. If he hadn’t turned his head, he would have hit the wall face first as he was pushed into it.

“Now, what was that about putting your _hand_ over my _mouth_ while I was _speaking_?”

“You shouldn’t be such a gobby shi… ahh, fuck.” Aiden bit the slope of his neck and shoulder and Lambert’s legs practically gave way. His fingernails bit into the wood as savage teeth were replaced by gentle kisses, and his trousers were suddenly way too tight.

“Take your clothes off. Now.” Aiden’s tone brooked no argument, and when he was released, Lambert obediently stripped away his armour, gambeson and boots. His trousers were left on and he quirked his eyebrow in challenge when the Cat scowled at him.

He mounted token resistance when he was pushed back onto the bed, raising his hands only to have his wrist snatched and pinned down above his head as Aiden laced his chest and neck with punishing kisses. He didn’t want to fight, not really, not tonight, not after a month walking the Path alone. He wanted Aiden, his hands, his lips, his _warmth_. 

When his lover pushed him over onto his front and roughly removed his trousers, Lambert ground himself into the sheets in anticipation. He turned his face down into the mattress to stifle the moan as Aiden pushed two slick fingers into him, the half empty bottle of oil left on the bedside table. “Come on, for _fuck’s sake_ , I need this…”

Barely prepared, he got his wish. Lambert had to shove his knuckles into his mouth to stem the cry that almost escaped. Aiden burned inside him and it was glorious. When he dropped his other hand to snake below his hips though, Aiden snatched it away and held it to the small of his back. "No. You need to learn some obedience first. Howl for me, Wolf."

Lambert was pretty sure everyone in the entire fucking village heard him that night.

* * *

Aiden was gone. 

Lambert woke early the next morning - it was still dark outside - but clearly not early enough. It wasn’t unusual for his lover to get up in the night, especially after a heavy night of drinking, but he always came back, and Lambert gazed at the empty side of the bunk with a furrowed brow. 

_And then a jarring realisation dawned on him_. Aiden didn't give things up. If he wanted them, he pursued them. Lambert's presence alone was testament to that. Said Wolf scrambled from the bed and pulled his clothes on with all the grace of a three-legged donkey. He snatched his swords from where they rested by the door and sprinted down the stairs. _The address, need to remember the fucking address…_

Lambert sprinted the three miles into the town of Vizima. _Need to replace that fucking horse_. He stopped three people to ask directions and by the third he found the house he was looking for. As he approached, his eyes cast up to a second floor window. A shadow passed across the curtains. Movement. Had to be a good sign.

The backdoor lock was broken - decidedly _not_ a good sign - and he shouldered his way through. The smell of blood stunned him, and he followed it's intensity up the stairs…

He found Aiden standing in that same room he had glanced at from the road. The Cat stood in the middle drenched in the blood of his victims. It coated the floor, the walls, the furniture… the fluttering curtains across the windowpane. Aiden had his back to the door, his steel sword gripped still in his right hand. His shoulders shook with deep, shuddering breaths and he didn't seem to notice Lambert at first.

There were six corpses. Lambert could see only two weapons. Three men and three women, completely eviscerated. Limbs and organs were torn savagely out of place, and four still displayed the look of horror they had worn when the monster had turned on them. There was nothing efficient or sane about this killing. This wasn’t just business. It was pure savagery. _Aiden_.

Lambert must have said it out loud, because the Cat tensed and turned to face him. It was the same look in his eye. That feral, unbridled rage that Lambert had seen in the younger Witchers at the caravan. Bloodlust. Lambert didn’t recognise the man he loved in that wrought expression… but it dissipated when Aiden locked onto his Wolf, and was replaced with dazed confusion. He looked around him at the bodies, and then down at the sword in his hand. Darkened blood ran from its tip, sending ripples through the congealing pool at his feet. When he raised his eyes again, Lambert recognised that look too.

"Don't you dare run." The Wolf growled in warning.

Aiden shook his head and began backing away. It was a graceless, uncoordinated movement and he briefly slipped in one of the many pools of gore on the floor; he was panicking. 

Lambert stepped forward. He could hear his own heart thundering in his ears, but didn't miss the sound of shouting and hammering footsteps downstairs. It distracted the Wolf momentarily and when he looked back, Aiden was perched in the window. 

"Aiden, don't… don't you fucking leave me." Lambert reached a hand out to plead, beg… but as the footsteps grew louder on the stairs, Aiden dropped to the street below.

The Wolf sprinted to the ledge, but when he looked out, his Cat was gone. Several guardsmen appeared in the doorway. "What the fuck…" They looked up to see Lambert at the window, his Witcher swords strapped to his back and the jagged scar through his eye as he looked back at them, and they drew their conclusions. "Don't move!"

The Witcher swore and grabbed the guttering above the window. He hauled himself out onto the roof and disappeared into the chimney stacks…

***

Aiden snatched his horse from where he had tied it and drove it towards the city gates. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder to check for pursuers. There were none, but he glimpsed something else. Something that pierced his heart more deeply than a blade ever could.

Lambert was standing at the peak of a rooftop, framed in the fading moonlight. He was watching Aiden leave him. His expression was bereft of emotion, dead, but Aiden could feel the betrayal blazing in Lambert's eyes as if he had cast igni across the distance. _Don't you fucking leave me_.

He clenched his teeth and spurred his gelding into a gallop, tears of rage burning in his eyes. This was it. It wasn't the bloodlust, or the rage, or the resentment from others of your kin… it was that glimmer of horror as your loved one saw the product of your wrath, the look of betrayal as you left to protect them from it. 

This was Aiden's curse. The Curse of the Cat.

* * *

_We could be outlaws, in a broken scene_

_Kiss me on the side walk, you're everything that I want_

_I'm broken, you see me_

_I've never been so fuckin' happy_

_We could be outlaws, living hopeless dreams_

_Taking what we can't afford, this is what we live for_

_We're lost in a fantasy_

_I've never been so fuckin' happy_

Outlaws by Breakaway

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_Epilogue_

_(Post-Sleeping Sun)_

Lambert and Aiden caught up with the Triplets - or rather, what was left of them - just outside Houlborg. They had paused in their travels to collect some water and were rummaging through their bags at the side of the road. Lambert hung back with their horse as Aiden approached, deliberately keeping himself obscured behind the animal’s head. Even with his keen hearing, he could only hear Aiden’s low timber as an obscure rumble and the two almost identical voices replying in hushed tones. The conversation continued sedately, Aiden’s body language was relaxed, and the two remaining brothers seemed unconcerned by being approached about their more nefarious activities.

The Wolf nudged the horse back several paces just as Aiden pulled a hunting knife from his belt and rammed it through the temple of the Witcher closest to him. The crack of his skull was earsplitting in the quiet hum of the summer’s evening. The second had clearly not seen it coming, because he only had his sword halfway from its scabbard before Aiden cut him down in one deft arc from his shoulder; Lambert had never seen speed like it. The head rolled to a rest beside the satchel of supplies, dulled yellow eyes gazing into nothing.

“What the _fuck_ , Aiden?” He was at the Cat’s side now, staring down at the two corpses.

“They admitted to the contract,” he murmured, yanking a rag from his pocket to clean down his weapon. “Justice is done.”

“Justice? I saw no jury... just an executioner.”

“They told the Eternal Fire exactly what they needed to do to hurt him, the perfect ways to make him suffer, and then they left him to die,” he slid the blade back into place and spat on the nearest body, before turning away. “They were no brothers of mine.” Aiden was almost back to their horse when he heard the whisper of steel against leather and he drew to a stop.

With deliberate languor, he turned to face Lambert, but made no move for his own weapon. 

“I was deciding whether to kill you or not… all these months, _years_ ,” Lambert’s voice betrayed the slightest tremor, his fingers tightened on the grip of the sword as he stepped forward. “I’ve seen the destruction you leave behind, but every time I do some digging into the contract you’ve taken, there’s always _something_. Something that makes me think twice. The baron you murdered two months ago…”

“...raped his daughter, and beat her mother.”

“And the merchant…”

“Used his spices trade to traffick young boys from Skellige.”

“The priest.”

Aiden paused, squinting into the middle distance. “Told his congregation they were cursed, and then levied unmanageable tithes, to the point of starving them to death.”

“To list but a few. And… that night. In Vizima.”

“Hmm. The worst of all. There wasn’t a crime that man _hadn’t_ committed.”

“And the five others you butchered with him?”

Aiden swallowed and looked at the floor. He didn’t answer.

“You know, they think I did it. There’s a bounty on my head. Because you ran away.”

“Lambert, I’m sorry, I--.”

“S _hut up_ . You don’t get to talk your way out of this one. You get to listen,” Lambert drew closer. “I went back to the caravan and spoke with Tess. That story you told me… about the young Witcher who wiped out a whole village because they refused to pay him? That was you. They call Geralt the Butcher of Blaviken for cleaning up a couple of thugs, but _you_ … you make him look pedestrian. The only reason you don’t have your own shitty nickname is because you left _no witnesses._ ” He was circling slowly now, but Aiden still made no move for his own weapon. “So, it has come to this. If I let you live, you will continue to wade through rivers of blood, sometimes guilty, sometimes innocent, or I put a stop to it and do what Witchers do best… kill a monster.”

“You have reached your decision then.”

“ _You_ always say that not all beasts have fur, scales and claws, Aiden. Some of them have human faces. I’ve never seen a monster wear one as fucking well as you do.” He clenched his teeth, biting back the burning agony the task built in his chest. “Draw your sword. Defend yourself.”

“No.”

“Draw-your fucking-sword.”

The Cat shook his head and lifted his hands to the collar of his gambeson. He popped the buttons open to reveal his chest, medallion glinting against honey skin, and held the lapels down. When he dropped to his knees on the path, he was looking Lambert dead in the eye. “Do it.”

This was not how Lambert had pictured it. Not at all. In his head, it had been a vicious and bloody fight, and only one of them walked away each time. Sometimes it was Aiden, sometimes it was him. It really depended on how much he wanted to self-flagellate that evening, but either way, the fight had to happen. This conflict and indecision, this pain of watching the bodies fall under those beautiful hands, this endless longing… _this_ , whatever it was, had to _end_. “Draw a weapon, Aiden.” It sounded more like a plea now, his voice as taut as his posture.

“You’re right. I won’t stop. Sometimes I lose time, lose myself, sometimes I wake up and the corpses are piled high and I can’t even remember doing it… it’s a special kind of torture. A devil’s bargain, if you will. So end it for me. Right here,” his gloved fingers tightened around the edges of his shirt. “But if you are waiting for me to draw a sword on you, Lambert, then we will be on this path for an eternity for I will not.” He paused, heaving a deep sigh. “I love you.”

Aiden took a deep lungful of night air as he prepared for the brief flash of pain and then the nothingness of death. After all these years, he found that he didn’t fear it so much as harbour a morbid curiosity. It was a poetic justice that the man he loved through to his very soul would be the one to deliver him from his cursed existence. Aiden allowed his eyes to close, not through cowardice, but to make it _easier_ for the Wolf that approached to exact his justice. 

But… nothing happened. The sword clattered to the ground as it slipped from Lambert’s grip, followed by a dull thud as the Witcher fell to his knees. Warm lips and coarse stubble brushed across Aiden’s exposed collarbone, and one of Lambert’s gloved hands gripped the back of his neck. Aiden dropped his palms away from his collar to run through his Wolf’s hair and pull him close. He could feel the desperation in the grip behind his head, the sigh of relief rippling across broad shoulders. It was as if Lambert had been holding his breath since that night in Vizima, and was now finally letting it out. The Wolf spoke quietly, his voice hoarse. “I was never a very good Witcher anyway…” He tilted his head into the crook of Aiden’s neck, inhaling his scent with the same desperation as a starving man sampled a banquet. 

Aiden pulled Lambert away from him, if only to look into the twin orbs of gold that swam with so much hurt and anger. “You are the noblest Witcher I’ve ever met,” he smiled gently, and pulled his glove off with his teeth. His newly exposed palm stroked down the side of Lambert’s face, and his heart practically _sang_ when those beautiful eyes closed and his Wolf tilted into the caress. _Forgiveness_. “Shit at cards though… but I can’t have everything, can I?”

Lambert scoffed, pulled away and grabbed a wrist. “The bard taught me a thing or two during his stay at Kaer Morhen… I will fucking destroy you.”

“Ahh, so you can teach an old dog new tricks after all. Well, shall we make it interesting?”

“Another rigged bet in mind?”

“That bet wasn’t _rigged_ , Lambert.”

“Letting me win the first round, and then ripping me a new arse hole in the second… yeah, that’s called a hustle. You’re a crook.”

“If I say it was for your own good, does that make it any better?”

“No. You still owe me a horse.”

“Fine. My terms are… if I win, then you take me home to meet the pack this winter.” 

Lambert blinked. “You want to winter at Kaer Morhen?”

“Hmm, yes. I want to see where they make the sticks they shove up your arse when you leave.”

“Oh fuck off… right, my terms… if I win, then you walk the Path with me for the rest of the summer and autumn. Not one or two big contracts… the whole time. Two of us.”

“Lambert, you know two Witchers can’t make eno--.”

“I _don’t care._ I am done with being on my own. I am done watching you from afar,” his grip tightened on the wrist in his hand. “I…” Aiden cocked his head to the side as his Wolf fought with the emotions in his chest; his chin tilted down, his eyes uncertain. Finally, Lambert managed to grate out his fear, “I can’t watch you leave me again.”

Aiden’s brow furrowed, and he gently extracted his arm, folding Lambert’s hand in his. “Alright. I accept the terms. Come on, we need to get out of here before a patrol stumbles across tweedle-dee and tweedle-dickhead over there.” 

They disappeared into the surrounding woodland and played gwent by firelight, sat on their bedrolls with a bottle of spirit each. Aiden took the first round, but Lambert proceeded to expertly dissect his strategy in the next two to achieve a resounding victory. “Ah-ha! Jaskier, you magnificent little fucker… Aiden, get comfo--.” 

He didn’t get to finish. Aiden pushed him onto his back and spent the rest of the evening making up for all those cold, empty nights Lambert had spent yearning and alone. They very quickly felt like a distant memory.


End file.
